Nov 18, 2024 10:32:20 GMT
[googlefont=Arizonia]
thanks aofie!
Zayn Blake was his nemesis. Boyd stared down at the half pipe and considered the trick. He was sure he could do it, his confidence wasn’t the problem. No, Zayn was the problem. Top of the slope in a clean 360 before pushing through to do that again, one and a half more times, in mere seconds. God, he hated the guy. In reality that was all nonsense of course, Z. was awesome and the fifteen year old looked up to the other boy like no other but Boyd could not stand getting outskated. Not here, not anywhere.
It annoyed him, here he was, competing in almost every competition the nation offered, at a level that his dad would’ve been jealous of at his age and yet he was going under ‘cause of Zayn, freaking, Blake. This couldn't be so hard, right? It was just half a turn more than he was performing every other weekend but apparently streetsmart was outwinning this one today. Fuck.
His jaw set and he stared fixedly at his feet. Boyd wasn’t enjoying himself like he usually was, he had grabbed the deck rail so often, and harder than usual because of his frustration, that his hand had become sore. Yes, he was competitive as hell, so what?
Boyd pushed though, launching himself down and then up the next slope once more. It felt good, he was going to make sure this was it, one final time. The rotation went well. Once. Twice, yes, yes,...,...and another half…YES.
Finally, why had he not been able to get it right sooner? Before he could even finish his thought he felt his balance shifting and instead of some sketchy landing that he would’ve been able to live with he fell flat on his ass. Of course. He got up and irritatedly made his way down from the ramp, ”Screw this, man”
It annoyed him, here he was, competing in almost every competition the nation offered, at a level that his dad would’ve been jealous of at his age and yet he was going under ‘cause of Zayn, freaking, Blake. This couldn't be so hard, right? It was just half a turn more than he was performing every other weekend but apparently streetsmart was outwinning this one today. Fuck.
His jaw set and he stared fixedly at his feet. Boyd wasn’t enjoying himself like he usually was, he had grabbed the deck rail so often, and harder than usual because of his frustration, that his hand had become sore. Yes, he was competitive as hell, so what?
Boyd pushed though, launching himself down and then up the next slope once more. It felt good, he was going to make sure this was it, one final time. The rotation went well. Once. Twice, yes, yes,...,...and another half…YES.
Finally, why had he not been able to get it right sooner? Before he could even finish his thought he felt his balance shifting and instead of some sketchy landing that he would’ve been able to live with he fell flat on his ass. Of course. He got up and irritatedly made his way down from the ramp, ”Screw this, man”
